The Best Medicine
by TimeAndTide
Summary: Sophie dreads the opening of a certain film. What can Alex do to help? Set eight or nine months after the movie.


A/N: Having a go at a story set in an even smaller fandom than the one I started out with.

In the film _Music and Lyrics_, Sophie (Drew Barrymore) was previously involved with an engaged literary professor-she didn't know about the engaged part-who wrote a thinly disguised account of their relationship in his next novel, painting her as the villainess. To Sophie's horror, the book not only becomes a bestseller but is optioned by Hollywood with her ex writing the screenplay too. Months later, Sophie is half of a successful songwriting team and happily involved with her partner, Alex Fletcher (Hugh Grant), a former eighties pop star. But now the film is slated to open and Sophie is dreading it. What can Alex do to help?

Disclaimer: Characters are the property of WB Studios. Story written for pleasure, not profit.

THE BEST MEDICINE: A Music and Lyrics Fanfiction

"Feeling any better, hon?" Rhonda asked sympathetically, patting her sister's hand.

Sophie nodded. "I'm not really sick anymore. Just tired and washed-out." She settled back on the sofa, drawing the brightly colored afghan more closely around her.

"I brought over a big pot of homemade chicken soup," Rhonda told her. "And real hot chocolate mix, with miniature marshmallows. You can even have some light whipped cream, if you want. Unless you'd rather have hot apple cider?"

"Hot chocolate would be great," Sophie assured her.

"Ah, Rhonda, you're here." Entering the living room, Alex greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. "Lovely. Now you and Sophie can have a nice visit together, while I run a few errands."

Sophie glanced dubiously out the window at the overcast autumn sky. "You sure you want to go out in this, babe? It looks like it's going to rain any minute, and I don't want you getting sick too."

"I'll wrap up warmly," he promised. "Besides, unlike you, I seem to have got a flu shot that actually worked."

Sophie grimaced. "That's certainly true. Will you be gone long?" She could not help the wistfulness that crept into her tone.

He smiled, stooped to kiss her forehead. "Not a moment longer than I have to be. Look after her for me," he added to Rhonda, who merely nodded.

For just a moment, their eyes met and a meaningful look flashed between them-or so it seemed to Sophie. But before she could question either her partner or her sister, Alex had moved towards the front door, donning his coat and scarf en route. "Back soon," he called over his shoulder as he left the apartment.

Rhonda smiled fondly after him for a moment, then turned back to Sophie. "I'll get started on that hot chocolate now. Gorgeous flowers, by the way," she added, indicating the laden vase on the end table.

"Thanks. Alex gave them to me yesterday." And they _were_ gorgeous, a bright assortment of gerbera daisies in shades of copper and gold. Simply looking at them made Sophie feel a little more cheerful.

If only all her problems could be solved with flowers and TLC. A line from the first song she and Alex had written flashed through her mind: _I've been living with a shadow overhead . . ._

Not anymore, Sophie told herself firmly. She wasn't going to think about that shadow today. Instead, she was going to focus on all the good things in her life: her family, her songwriting career, and Alex. Especially Alex, who'd turned out to be everything she could ever want in a lover and a partner. What was a shadow, compared to what they'd found together?

"Marshmallows or whipped cream?" Rhonda asked, rising from her perch on the arm of the sofa.

Sophie mustered a smile. "Why not both?"

-xxx-

The billboard loomed over the street, taking up far more space than any film advertisement had a right to. Of course, if Alex had had his way, all stills and posters for "The Incredibly True Adventures of Sally Michaels" would have been visible only beneath a high-powered microscope.

Curling his lip at the billboard, which showed a nubile, scantily-clad blonde draped seductively over a nervous-looking chap in tweed, he thrust his hands into his coat pockets and walked on, seething.

Bloody film. And bloody Sloan Cates, who'd started it all. He wished the smarmy bastard were right in front of him, so he could shove him again-preferably under a bus. Except, Alex remembered uncomfortably, he himself had come off rather the worse in their lone encounter. And Sophie had enough worries right now without having to patch him up after another round with her slimy, self-serving ex.

Ever since the promotional campaign for "Sally Michaels" had begun, she'd been a nervous wreck. Because, naturally, Sloan had been everywhere-making guest appearances on late night and early morning talk shows, giving interviews in several major papers, and dropping coy hints that his characters were indeed "drawn from real life." The studio continually flogged the fact that a National Book Award winner had adapted his best-selling novel for the screen, and there had been talk of Oscar nominations even before the film's official release-which just happened to be today.

Alex gnawed his lower lip. They'd planned a romantic getaway a few days before the film was due to open, in hopes that the initial buzz would have subsided by the time they returned to New York. But last Sunday night, Sophie had come down with flu and been too sick to travel. Even now, despite being on the mend, she was still pale and listless.

_The moment she's well enough, I'll whisk her away_, he decided. But that still left today and the weekend to be got through. Sighing, he raked a hand through his hair. He hated feeling so inadequate. He could offer Sophie his love and support, but he couldn't make Sloan Cates or his wretched film disappear. And if that slanderous bit of celluloid became a hit . . .

Just how bad was this going to be? He'd stopped his subscription to the _New York Times_ for the days he and Sophie were planning to be away and hadn't yet renewed it, so there had been no delivery this morning. Just as well-a glowing review of "Sally Michaels" might have set Sophie back for days-but he couldn't hope to hide the film's reception from her indefinitely.

_Forewarned was forearmed_, Alex told himself as he came in sight of the newsstand. If he got some idea of how critics were responding to the film, he'd be better equipped to protect Sophie. He concluded with regret that it probably wasn't possible to burn every copy of the _New York Times_ in the city, but he was sure he could come up with an acceptable alternative plan.

He paid for his own copy of the paper, found the right page number, and opened to the review. His eyes widened at the headline, then, as he read on, a slow grin spread across his face . . .

-xxxx-

"Where have you been?" Sophie exclaimed as Alex entered the apartment nearly an hour later. "And what have you got there?" she added, eying the stack of newspapers under his arm with deep misgiving.

"Reviews." Radiating self-satisfaction, he set the stack on the coffee table and sat down on the armchair opposite her. "For a certain picture opening today."

_Oh, God_. Sophie's eyes widened in shock at his announcement. "I really don't think I want to know," she began, huddling defensively under the afghan and trying not to feel betrayed.

He held up a hand. "Yes, yes-you will. Believe me, you'll definitely want to hear this." He opened the topmost newspaper with a flourish, cleared his throat, and began. "From the_ New York Times_. 'Sally Michaels' Delivers Holiday Turkey in Time for Thanksgiving."

"What?" Sophie could scarcely believe her ears. "They-they didn't like it?"

"I'd say that was putting it mildly." Alex smiled at her. "Shall I go on?"

"Absolutely," Rhonda replied, appearing in the kitchen doorway. "I've been waiting to hear this all day."

Sophie glanced at her sister. "You knew what Alex was up to?"

"I guessed. I knew that douchebag's film was opening today and you were both worried about it, so . . . " Rhonda motioned to Alex to continue.

"Well, they comment at length upon the film's various flaws," he resumed. "But for our purposes, the most relevant paragraph reads as follows. 'Cartoonish and crude, Cates' screenplay calls into question the merits not only of the best-selling novel on which this film is based, but of his whole body of work. To judge him on the basis of this adaptation alone, one must regretfully conclude that this literary emperor has no clothes.'"

"Wow." Dazed with relief, Sophie sank back against the sofa cushions. "They hated it."

"They're not the only ones." Alex picked up another newspaper. "While less eloquent than the _Times_, the _Daily News_ dismisses the entire production as 'preposterous and silly.' And according to the_ Washington Post_, the film 'alternates between being ponderous and self-important, and hysterical and shrill.'"

A bubble of laughter rose in Sophie's throat. "Oh, my God! Everyone involved must be absolutely beside themselves." _And no one more than Sloan_, she thought, gleefully imagining his face on reading one of these reviews.

"Of course, my personal favorite might be the_ Chicago Sun-Times_," Alex went on, opening the paper in question. "'While the actors have distinguished themselves in previous projects, here, they are not provided with material worthy of their talents. The fault lies mainly with the script, penned by Sloan Cates from his best-selling novel. The characters are drawn with less nuance, credibility, and complexity than the Sunday Comics Page.'"

"Oh, I like that one too," Rhonda remarked, grinning.

"And the _Hollywood Reporter_ sums it up as "'Educating Rita meets Fatal Attraction, only without the wit of the former or the thrills of the latter.'" Alex looked up from his reading. "I've got a few more newspapers here, but they all say roughly the same thing-that 'Sally Michaels' is a massive flop."

Relief yielded to a sudden, giddy joy. "I can't believe you did this for me," Sophie marveled. "Bought up all these papers, searched through the reviews . . ."

"I wanted to see exactly what we'd be up against," Alex explained. "And fortunately, it's nowhere near as bad as we thought. There might be one or two lone voices in the wilderness that actually like 'Sally Michaels' but, based on what I've read so far, I think the studio can kiss those Oscar nominations goodbye." He pushed the newspapers aside and smiled at Sophie with a tenderness that made everything go soft inside her. "It's going to be all right, darling. I promise."

Rhonda came forward to give him a smacking kiss on the cheek. "You did good," she told him. "We've got some hot chocolate left-let me heat it up for you."

"Thanks, that would be lovely."

As Rhonda returned to the kitchen, Sophie patted the sofa invitingly and Alex came to sit beside her, putting his arm around her and drawing her close.

"My hero," she said softly, resting her head against his shoulder.

"Yes, well . . ." Alex cleared his throat, a bit self-consciously. "I wasn't about to let that-what was your sister's word for him?-douchebag or his film make you miserable, if I could help it. As it is, everything's worked out beautifully-it's almost enough to make one believe in karma." He paused to study her, then nodded his approval. "You look better-there's some color in your cheeks now. Next time, I'll be sure to bring the reviews first, and the flowers after."

Sophie chuckled, snuggling a little closer. "I suppose, if I were a better person, I'd feel just the teeniest bit sorry for Sloan right now-"

"If you did, I'd take it as a sign that you were delirious," Alex countered. "Or else, aspiring to sainthood."

"Don't worry, I'm neither. And I'm not sorry for him at all."

"Good." His arm tightened around her. "You know, thinking it over, I should be grateful that Colin never did anything like this. Wrote some sordid tell-all about how PoP broke up, and aired the band's dirty linen-or worse, made some up."

"Mm." Sophie's opinion of Alex's former partner was about as high as Alex's opinion of Sloan. "Maybe he just never thought of it."

"Very likely. I suppose I could have written one myself after hitting bottom," he added reflectively. "I certainly could have used the money back then. But I like to think I'd have had too much self-respect to go that route."

Sophie smiled up at him. "Didn't you once tell me the best revenge would be to write a hit song, instead?"

"I did, yes. And, as it happens, I was right-even if it took me more than a decade to find the perfect lyricist. So everything worked out on the end." He kissed the top of her head, settled back against the sofa cushions. "I wonder what _Rolling Stone _will have to say," he mused. "They're usually good for a laugh . . ."

**Epilogue**

"'The Incredibly True Adventures of Sally Michaels' is, hands-down, the worst film of this or any year."-_Rolling Stone_


End file.
